


Malleus Maleificarum

by theescapist99



Series: The Second Salem [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Credence Barebone, M/M, Top Percival Graves, also magic, and its grindlegraves that rapes credence, but not entirely, but well explore that later, credence has a lot of religious guilt he needs to work through, its basically percival teaching credence how to sin, just mentions of rape, lots and lots of religious symbolism, maybe a very vivid description idk, percival graves is a good guy, so theres no actual rape in this, totally religious themed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9795866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theescapist99/pseuds/theescapist99
Summary: For nearly three centuries Malleus Maleficarum (The Witches' Hammer) was the professional manual for witch hunters. Malleus Maleficarum is characterized by a very specific conception of what a witch is. This concept of sorcery is characterized by the conviction that those guilty engage in six activities:1. A pact entered into with the Devil and concomitant apostasy from Christianity.2. Sexual relations with the Devil.3. Aerial flight.4. An assembly presided over by Satan himself.5. The practice of maleficent magic.6. The slaughter of babies.This is the story of Credence's progression in witchcraft --  with the Devil named Percival Graves.





	1. I. Concomitmant Apostasy

 

Perhaps the most annoying thing about living with Credence Barebone was having to hear just how many _things_ were a sin.

Unlike his mother, Credence lacked the aggression to truly enforce his beliefs onto others.

But lord, that did not stop him from talking about it.

“You shouldn’t smoke, it’s a sin.”

“You shouldn’t curse like that, it’s a sin.”

“You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain like that, it’s a –“

“For God’s sake, Credence!” Percival snapped at him at one point, “Yes, it’s a sin, _I get it_.”

Credence had shut up then, resorting to simply chewing on his lip -- but it was hardly the last time he spoke up about it.

When Percival had agreed to take the boy in, he had just sort of _assumed_ that he would forget all about his religious roots in time.

 _Old habits die hard_ , he soon came to realize.

 _Couldn’t be healthy to be that puritan_ , Percival mused. _Not at his age._

He wasn’t sure exactly how old Credence was, but he assumed somewhere around the early 20s. It was around the age where someone was supposed to be the _most_ sinful, in fact.

Sometimes he contemplated just going down the list of some of the nastier “sins” he himself has committed; rattling them off to Credence just to see if his head might explode.

Percival decided to make it his own personal mission to help Credence be a little more _sinful_.

It wasn’t that Percival couldn’t respect someone’s religion, of course. Yet Percival wasn’t exactly sure what the extent of the list of things that Credence considered sins was, especially since the source of this information had been his wretch of a mother. Sometimes, Credence would call things sins that, to Percival’s limited knowledge of the Christian faith, were not typically sins at all.

“I couldn’t, Mr. Graves.” Credence had once said as he eyed an offered chocolate bar in Percival’s hand, “Sugar is a sin.”

“ _Sugar is a sin_?” Percival had repeated, honestly baffled.

_My god, has the boy really never even tasted anything sweet?_

Credence had nodded, and Percival had to fight the temptation to simply shove the chocolate into his mouth anyway.

…And then one day, it all made sense.

Percival had been in the simple act of undressing himself after a hard day’s work.

He was halfway done, completely shirtless and about to get started on getting out of his pants, when his aurors instinct kicked in.

He could feel eyes on him.

He spun around instantly, and Credence was too slow to retreat. He was standing out in the hallway, the door ajar. Percival couldn’t remember if he left it open himself, or if Credence had opened it on his own.

“Do you need something, Credence?” Percival asked, confused as to why the boy looked so shaken.

Credence appeared to be gripping the doorknob for support, his whole body trembling slightly.

He literally seemed to be weak at the knees.

His sunken cheeks were flushed with a light tinge of pink.

“No… no, Mr. Graves.” Credence stammered, looking down on the floor. “I was just….I….”

Percival raised an eyebrow at him.

His eyes darted downward below the belt line, and he noticed the outline of something protruding outward, under the boy’s pants.

_Ah, of course._

He had suspected for some time that Credence was an invert. Namely, he was very alarmed when he had taken Credence shopping with him, and they happened upon a woman who Percival knew for a fact was half Veela. Percival had been curious to see what Credence’s reaction to her might be, and was astounded that he had none at all.

But he hadn’t been sure if it was a puritan thing.

It only now occurred to Percival that Credence likely has never seen anyone without a shirt on, either.

“Credence, darling – are you alright?” Percival smirked a little, enjoying the way the small gesture seemed to throw Credence into a near fit of hyperventilation.

He strolled --- no, _sauntered_ up to the kid, who was backing away a few inches but not outright fleeing. Percival wasn’t sure if he was staying out of curiosity or out of fear, though.

He wasn’t sure how long he might have this opening, this moment of vulnerability, so Percival decided to cut to the chase.

“Come now, my boy.” Percival purred at him, not unaware of the sultry tone with which he spoke, “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

He reached out to stroke the right side of Credence’s face, but that seemed to send Credence over the edge.

He literally screamed, “No! It’s a sin!” -- before running away.

Percival’s smirk fell.

_Yeah._

_He’s really going to have to do something about this._

The thing with sin is that it’s usually committed for something you desire. And the only thing Credence ever seemed to show desire for was Percival. Percival knew it probably wasn’t in anyone’s best interest to outright start seducing the boy, and yet…

“What are we doing here, Mr. Graves?”

Credence stared at him – eyes wide, voice breaking. (Although that wasn’t much different from the usual way he looked at him.)

They were standing alone in the ruins of the old church. The hour was late, somewhere half past midnight.

Spiders and dust were all that inhabited the remains of this decrepit place. The bodies of Credence’s deceased “family” had all been magically disposed of, anyone with any memory of them obviated. It had still been a long and annoying ordeal, but thankfully not many remembered the Barebones.

The church was as empty as the streets around it, just as Percival knew it would be.

“You need closure.” Percival stated plainly. He handed Credence his wand, but Credence only flinched back, likely thinking Percival was pointing it at him.

“I’m about to give you your first magical lesson. Take it.”

Credence looked at Percival with apprehension, but eventually grabbed the wand from his hand. His features were etched with hesitation.

He moved behind Credence then, positioning himself so he could talk into his ear. He could feel Credence’s posture straighten as his back reflexed away from the close contact.

“Point it there.” He gestured to the pile of lumber that used to be the altar. Credence recognized it immediately and shook his head, “No.”

“ _Do it_ , or you’ll find another place to live.”

It was an empty threat, and Percival knew it. But this was something he truly felt Credence needed to do, and in truth he didn’t have much else to threaten him with.

Credence let out a whine, the concept of being thrown out clearly frightening him. Again, with his body language showing great reluctance, he raised the wand and pointed it at the ruined altar. Percival could practically feel Credence’s heart beating hard against his rib cage.

He placed a gentle hand on Credence’s waist, sending his pulse pounding even harder. He leaned closer into Credence’s ear and he said:

“Now, I want you to think of all the _shit_ your _bitch_ mother did to you.” He could hear the hitch in Credence’s breath at the cursing, but he paid no mind and pressed on – this was _not_ the time for comforting or safe spaces.

“I want you to remember all those beatings you didn’t _fucking_ deserve, all that shit she drilled into your head about Jesus and hell and whatever the _fuck_ she rattled on about. I want you to remember the shit she put your sisters through, how she made sure Modesty would never have a healthy life. I want you to think of all the blood the _bitch_ made you shed, how she made you feel like you weren’t enough. All the _shit_ she said about magic and witches. I want you to get angry Credence, to be _fucking_ angry! I want you to understand, the _cunt deserved what she got_ , and then some! _Fuck_ all this religious guilt – just accept it Credence, your mother was a just a _fucking bitch who doesn’t know jack shit_! Everything she taught you is _wrong_.”

Percival had begun to raise his voice towards the end of his tirade, his own anger increasing with every word he spoke. He could see the black smoke shedding from Credence, who was already crying hard, all control successfully unhinged.

He could feel the anger that emanated – the hatred that manifested in swirling black mist. He knew what he was doing was dangerous, but tried to reassure himself this was a selfless act, that he was only giving Credence the therapy he _really_ needed.

He brought a hand over Credence’s outstretched one, the one that held the wand.

“Now say it with me, Credence. I _need_ you to do this. When I stop moving the wand, I need you to say the word with me.”

“What?” Credence hiccupped.

“I need you to say: _Incendio_.”

“ _Incendio_.” Credence repeated it in a whisper so soft, Percival wouldn’t have heard it had he not been right next to the boy’s face.

But he said it correctly.

“Yes, _good_. Very good, my boy.” Percival purred, squeezing Credence’s hand reassuringly.

He guided Credence’s hand through the proper motions.

 And when they were done, they said it together:

_Incendio._

The altar burst into flames, flames that took mere seconds to begin to spread. Smoke melted with the aura of Credence’s hatred, blending together in likeness and ferocity.

Credence seemed frozen in awe, his tears no longer flowing as he stood watching the inferno. Percival stood back, observing him. He wondered what the boy might be thinking, feeling, or remembering.

The heat licked at both their faces, and Percival knew he couldn’t let Credence savor the sight for much longer. He twisted Credence around, cupping a side of his face in a firm grip.

He planted a kiss on the boy’s chapped lips, gaped open in almost child-like wonder.

Credence let himself kiss back, surprisingly unresisting. A hope ignited in Percival.

“Do you understand finally, Credence?”

 Percival broke the lip lock, but kept a hold of Credence’s face so that their gazes still met as he whispered the words:

“God… _God is a lie_.”

 


	2. II. Sexual Relations With The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once brought back to his senses, no longer caught up in the throws of his own anger, Credence was quite distraught over what they had done. Percival caught him begging for forgiveness more than once, in prayers.
> 
> The repeated sight of Credence on his knees stirred something carnal in him.

 

Percival’s little plan wasn’t going quite as well as he had hoped.

Covering up the church fire was easy, as Percival thought it would be. It was no difficult feat to get people to think that some rowdy children were likely behind it. It was uninhabited, abandoned, and in ruins after all. It was the perfect target for vandalism or even arson.

It was Credence -- as had become usual --- who troubled him.

Once brought back to his senses, no longer caught up in the throws of his own anger, Credence was quite distraught over what they had done. Percival caught him begging for forgiveness more than once, in prayers.

The repeated sight of Credence on his knees stirred something carnal in him.

It was a Friday night when he found Credence praying in his room, likely assuming that Percival was still at work. His face was hidden by the shaggy locks of hair that had grown since Percival had taken him in, but he could hear the muttered words to an invisible deity. His hands were balled into fists that clutched around his heart, likely gripping at the crucifix he sometimes wore around his neck.

He faced a bare wall, with no furniture in the way. Credence had once asked him If they could keep a bible in the home, a request Percival had promptly denied. Had he obliged, that is likely what he would have found him praying to now. But no -- he asked forgiveness to nothing but a structure of wood and drywall.

Percival sneered.

“You know, there are better things you could be doing on those knees.” he interrupted his prayer, and Credence’s head snapped up to look at him, expression confused.

“What?”

Percival did not answer, but bent down and slowly placed a kiss on the boy’s lips. Credence actually let out a moan that sent Percival’s pulse pounding.

But Credence was quick to break it, snapping his head back so quickly, Percival was confused as to why his lips had suddenly gone cold for a moment. He frowned, opening his eyes to an already teary faced Credence.

“No, Mr. Graves.” Credence whispered, as though it were not just the two of him in his bedroom (and if you asked Credence, he would probably insist it wasn’t), “I’ve already done enough. I _do like you, but I can’t._ The bible says --”

Percival sighed.

“What Credence -- what does the bible say?” He asked, rolling his eyes slightly.

Credence inhaled deeply and began to recite: “Romans, 1:18 -- For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth. For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened…”

Percival couldn’t bear to hear anymore.

Slowly, he got down his knees and positioned himself so that he was facing Credence at eye level. Credence stopped talking, eyes growing a little bit wider.

“No, no. Go on.” Percival urged him, “No more kissing, I promise. Teach me the ways of your Lord.”

Credence titled his head like a questioning dog, perhaps wondering if there was a catch to this, considering Percival’s well enforced atheism up until this point.

And there was.

As Credence started up again, “Therefore God gave them up in the lusts of their hearts to impurity, to the dishonoring of their bodies among themselves…” Percival leaned over and placed hands on both of Credence’s shoulders, before he started sucking on his bare neck very lightly.

Credence stopped again.

“Go on.” Percival pressed him, a purr in his tone.

It took Credence another second to get started this time, but sure enough he continued his speech: “…b-because they exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever!”

By the time he reached the word Creator, Percival had nearly finished unbuttoning his white pajama flannel top. And by the time he spoke the words “blessed forever”, Percival was flicking his tongue onto the pink and puffy protrusion that was Credence’s right nipple.

Credence was breathing hard, but this time he did not stop Percival. He merely continued to recite, although in a much more hushed tone, as though he was now more saying it to himself, and realizing that Percival was not actually listening to this.

“Fo- fo- or this reason, God gave them up to dishonorable passions….” Credence continued breathlessly, as Percival reached a hand into his pajama pants, grabbing a handful of Credence’s hardened cock. Credence squirmed, but was still able to maintain his posture and Percival began to stroke him, a lubricant already coating him through wandless, wordless magic.

“Fo -- for their women exchanged natural relations for those that are contrary to nature; an-- and the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were….” Credence trailed off, unable to stop himself from moaning and heaving.

Percival raised an eyebrow at him, but continued slowly stroking the boy’s cock as he murmured, “And were what, Credence?”

“And…and…were…ooohhh…” Credence whined.

Percival smirked a little. He was prolonging the ejaculation and he knew it, taking his sweet time.

He was enjoying the way Credence was coming undone under his grip; the way the boy unraveled so easily.

Although he did make a mental note that Credence was lasting longer than he expected, he did feel it was a good thing but at the same time wondered why that was. He would have thought someone with as little sexual contact as Credence has had would have came over the licking of his nipple.

But he put that mental note away for exploration later.

Right now, he wanted to savor the sound of Credence __moaning__ , enjoy how he was finally forgetting the words of his one true God, in the breaking dawn of his pleasure.

He enjoyed the idea that he could make Credence forget God with just himself.

He enjoyed the idea that __he__  could be Credence’s God.

“Finish your sentence, Credence.” Percival cooed, his voice gentle but still somewhat playful. Or mocking, depending on how one might have perceived it. “It won’t happen until you do.”

Credence looked directly at him for the first time since he started, and Percival could swear he was __glaring.__ He thought to himself that if Credence had any kind of temperament or love for retribution, he would be in for it.

And he was, but not this day.

“ …were…were…consumed with passion for one an-- another, men committing sh - shameless acts with men and receiving in themselv…”

Credence screamed out.

Warm, white liquid spilled out over Percival’s hand.

The orgasm was preceded immediately by sobbing, but that wasn’t terribly unexpected. Credence had fallen back, so that he was crumpled out on the floor rather than on his knees. He heaved repeatedly, likely overcome by strange and unfamiliar sensation.

But in his eyes -- the eyes that looked up at Percival now as he stood -- his eyes sparkled with a glimmer of life and lust that Percival had never seen in them before.

Percival brought his soaked hand up to his mouth, and he licked at the cum that drenched it, becoming excited at the shocked and disgusted expression that passed over Credence’s face as he did so.

“... in themselves the due penalty for their error.” Percival stated plainly when he was done, finishing Credence’s statement. “Yes, Credence -- I know the verse. Now, clean yourself and get ready for dinner, darling.”

Percival left to finish himself off in his own room. Before he could close the door behind him, Credence called out his name. When he turned around Credence had picked himself up, but was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall.

“Do you know how it ends?”

“How what ends?” Percival inquired.

 “Romans 1:32 --- though they know God’s righteous decree that those who practice such things deserve to die, they not only do them but give approval to those who practice them.” Credence recited it, his expression already having returned to being devoid of emotion.

Percival just shook his head, but rather than answering he merely opted to slam the door closed.

 He supposed they’d have to have a few more bible study sessions.

 At least, until the message sunk in.

 He mused to himself:

_Soon the word of God will be replaced with the word of Graves._


	3. III. Aerial Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival has a getaway planned.

 

Percival needed a vacation.

He needed one __bad.__

Or rather, he was starting to realize that he could spend a bit more time at home, immersing himself in what he had come to nickname (to himself anyway) “bible study”.

Except he wasn’t studying the bible.

He was studying Credence Barebone.

 _Close enough,_ he supposed.

And thankfully, the bible was starting to have less and less to do with said studies. Thankfully, Credence seemed to start to forget much more often about his precious verses and passages. 

He didn’t push Credence after that first time. It was Credence who came to his bedroom soon after, under the guise of insomnia troubles.

“Can I sleep with you?” he had whispered in that sweet, innocent way he always seemed to whenever he was asking something that could be taken suggestively.

“Of course, love.” Percival had smiled at him.

He didn’t even push him then, only going back to reading his novel once Credence had tucked himself in snugly beside him. It was Credence, even then, who had tugged at Percival’s bed robes, asking him with a guilty expression, “Co -- could you touch me? Like before?”

And Percival had said "of course" to that too.

But it hadn’t even stopped there.

Credence started pushing for more, which was entirely surprising. All of a sudden, the boy wanted blow jobs too, and enjoyed Percival’s tongue on other unmentionable areas as well. Percival did not ask questions though -- he was happy to give.

It was as though his little crack in the dam that was Credence’s self control had caused it to collapse...and the result was an unleashed flood of powerful, _gushing_ lust.

Percival was more than happy to get swept away by the current.

He wanted to _drown_ in it.

Which is why, you understand, he _really_ needed this vacation.

“A week?” Seraphina had nearly laughed at him when he submitted the paperwork for the time off. “What on earth do you need a whole week off for?”

“I have never even taken three days, Madam President.” Percival had responded, tone clipped “I hardly feel that this is some repeat offense…”

“No.” Seraphina pursed her lips, “It’s just unusual, that is all. Is… everything alright, Mr. Graves?”

“Fine.” Percival cleared his throat, doing his best to seem adamant and not _at all_ guilty of neglecting his work to go screw someone 20 years his junior. “I just need some time off. That’s it.”

They stared at each other, Percival refusing to break eye contact. They both knew full well that Percival was fully entitled to this time off, when he had hardly taken any in his entire career. Seraphina was just irked at the idea of losing one of her best employees for so long.

Seraphina sighed as she took the papers Percival had thrown on her desk, and scrawled her elegant and complicated signature at the bottom.

Percival bit back a smile.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where are we going?” Credence asked as he packed what little he had in the way of clothing.

It had been very sudden -- Percival had come home after work, and told him they were leaving, instructing him to start packing.

“Away.” Percival muttered, in the process of stuffing his own things into enchanted, expanding luggage.

Credence didn’t ask anything more, seeming fully aware of that fact that if Percival didn’t want to tell you something upfront, he wasn’t going to -- and any attempts to force him would not end well. (And certainly not with any answers). 

They both seemed to finish their tasks simultaneously -- neither of them seemed to need much. They were both low maintenance people -- it was one of the shared traits that Percival found most endearing about Credence.

It was then that Credence asked something he had not quite thought of.

“Well… how are we getting there?”

Fuck.

It was too long of a distance for side along apparition. To be honest, he had been apparating solo for so long that he often failed to factor in his new accomplice. They never went far enough together for it to matter. Until now, of course. 

He had already called in for reservations, and it was too late for an airplane -- and besides, he wouldn’t caught dead in of those godawful no-maj contraptions. Cramped with all those people, the idea made Percival shudder. 

There was only one good solution here.

* * *

 

“We’re going to fly.” Percival explained as Credence followed him down to his basement.

“You have airplane tickets?” Credence asked.

“Well…no.”

It was waiting patiently for them in the dusty closet where he had last left it.

He had not needed it for sometime, so when he opened the doors, a plume of dirt and the stench of neglect was all that greeted them. But when that cleared, his broomstick stood in the closet center -- its elegant black exterior dirtied with cobwebs.

“A broom?” Credence looked at it curiously.

“Yes.” Percival grinned as his hand closed around the handle, greeting it like an old friend.

Credence’s eyes darted side to side as he was trying to put two and two together -- Percival could see the cogs turning in his mind.

“You don’t mean… “ Credence began, realization creeping into his expression, “It’s not actually true that witches use…”

“Broomsticks to fly?” Percival raised an eye at him, “Why yes, yes it’s actually entirely true.’

Credence gaped, and stared at Percival as though he expected him to admit that he was joking any minute now.

But to Credence’s apparent dismay, he was not.

Percival had enchanted both their suitcases to fit inside a small satchel that slung across his chest. So once Percival had dusted off the old broom and brought it out into the front lawn with them, all that was left was for them to take off.

“Come on, darling.” Percival beckoned as he sat at the head of the handle, rather excited at the idea of traveling the old fashioned way. “Just get on behind me, and wrap your arms around my waist. Tight as you can, of course.”

He waited to feel Credence behind him, but he back sensed nothing but cold air for a while, the midnight breeze tickling the exposed skin of his neck. Percival looked over to see Credence still standing there, looking quite petrified.

Percival sighed.

Of course, Credence had become so much more normal as of late, but he should have remembered that that was likely due to the fact that he had gotten used to much of their daily lives -- and there hadn’t been anything all that eventful rather then some _amazing_ sex.

This was something new...a concept Credence had not even been aware of its existence until a few moments ago.

Percival mentally kicked himself for letting his own eagerness blind him. But at the same time, they were in somewhat of a hurry. Percival knew he had to try to coax him as best and as quickly as he could.

“It’s not unsafe.” Percival assured him, “Try to think of it as a _really_ prolonged apparition.”

Credence turned his head to look up at the sky, the night clear and full of stars. The weather was beautiful, and the clouds were sparse -- a big part of why Percival wanted to get a move on. But it also did make the sky look very vast and endless and empty. He could see why the idea might be a little overwhelming. 

“We’re going to go up there?” Credence squeaked out

“Well, yes.” Percival frowned at the fear in the boy’s voice. “But, I promise you, darling --- I’ll hold on to you the _entire_ time. I won’t let anything happen to you, you know that, right?”

Credence looked back at him, with a stare overflowing with affection and appreciation. He wasn’t sure why, honestly -- he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t untrue.

Percival was not always good at sensitivity or being everything Credence needed -- but he also knew that he would _always_ do whatever he could to protect him. To keep him safe. 

That much, at least, he was certain he could do. Protecting people was literally his life's purpose thus far -- so he'd be _damned_ if he would let his ability to protect lapse when it came to the one person in his life, odd as the relationship was. 

“Do you trust me?” Percival called out to him.

Credence nodded without hesitation. 

So Percival extended his hand, palm outstretched -- _beckoning him_.

And Credence, finally, came forward -- and took it. Despite the cold chill, the slick of sweat was drenching the palm that met his. 

Percival turned around to help Credence onto the broom, albeit rather awkwardly. He smiled at the boy with all the encouragement he could muster.

“Put your arms around my waist, love.”

Credence obeyed, trembling arms coming to encircle his midriff. Percival placed a hand over where his hands met, squeezing them hard in a gesture of comfort. The trembling died down slightly.

“Now,” Percival instructed him, “I want you to bury your face into my back -- just enough so that you can breathe, of course. Just shut your eyes, focus on me, and whatever you do, _don’t_ look down.”

With anyone else, he would have encouraged a first time flier to enjoy the view -- but Percival realized this would not be a good time for them to discover Credence had some kind of fear of heights.

He felt Credence nod and waited until he could feel Credence’s face pressed firmly into the small of his  back. He could feel Credence breathing in hungrily, and he realized the boy seemed to be doing all he can to inhale his scent.

 _Whatever gets him through this_ , Percival mentally shrugged as he kicked hard off the ground.

The minute they were airborne, he felt the grip of Credence’s long arms get about 100xs tighter, but Percival had anticipated that that would happen.

He spent the next hour or so trying to breathe properly with Credence seeming determined to squeeze the life out of him, all while trying to comfort Credence as best as he could in their current positioning.

As they flew over Arizona, he could feel Credence breathing alarmingly hard, and no amount of hand squeezing or stroking seemed to quell it.

“You’re doing wonderful, Credence.” Percival yelled back at him over the wind roaring their ears, “I’m _so_ proud of you, my boy. I love you, very much so.”

The words seemed to soothe him.

Percival felt a tinge of regret after a moment.

He did love Credence, in a way, but to say it out loud signified a relationship level he wasn’t quite sure they were at yet. He had certainly not said it to anyone else in a very, _very_ long time. Not since his own mother passed away, and that was a different kind of love all together.

And now, he wasn’t sure if he had said it because he actually, truly meant it -- or if it was because he was trying to calm Credence down.

But he didn’t have all that much more time to contemplate this, thankfully.

Because soon enough, they were landing into a deserted area of their destination.

They had finally reached Las Vegas.


	4. IV. An Assembly Presided Over By Satan Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's got scars.

 

The Apache hotel was a newly opened hotel in the center of Las Vegas. It had been much advertised for months, and as a purveyor of expensive experiences, both magical and non, Percival was pleased to find that it did not disappoint.  

They got a suite of course -- the biggest one the hotel had to offer. It was spacious, with its own mini kitchen and a nice, comfy queen sized bed.

Unfortunately, Credence did still spend most of their first evening there vomiting into the toilet bowl after having endured that broomstick ride.

But after all that fuss and a bit Percival making sure Credence was alright, they were able to have a restful sleep entwined in each others limbs, both excited for the new day ahead.

* * *

 

Percival woke Credence up the next morning with several sleepy smooches to the boy’s parted lips. Credence moaned into them without opening his eyes, letting himself be drawn closer to Percival’s body heat. Percival ran a hand through Credence’s hair, his other hand already inching down to the top of Credence’s sweatpants.

“Did you sleep well?” Percival asked him. Credence nodded.

“Very good.” Percival purred as he slowly began peeling down the sweat pants, already having felt that they were both suffering from morning wood.

But Credence grabbed Percival’s wrist suddenly and with surprising firmness, bringing him to a halt.

“Whats wrong?” Percival questioned, taken aback.

Credence looked up at him, eyes nearly twinkling with excitement.

“You said, when we got here, I could do you.” he said.

Indeed, Percival had.

It was a subject brought up in discussion between them before. Credence had asked several times before this, “Why can’t I suck you off?” “Why can’t I give you a hand job?” “Why don’t we ever focus on you?”

And Percival had told him, most of the time, that they would deal with that later.

Percival assured  him it wasn’t a priority.

And just last night, right before they drifted off to sleep together, Credence had said that while they were here, he wanted to “try him for a change”. And Percival, as exhausted and tired as he was, had simply answered “sure”.

But it was still a yes.

“Maybe tomorrow, love.” Percival said quickly, before attempting to resume the removal of Credence’s pants.

Credence’s hand didn’t budge.

“I want to!” He whined, looking Percival dead in the eyes.

Percival sighed.

“I’m a bit older, my boy. It… could take me a while.”

It was actually a concern. Percival was a very hard man to please, sexually. He of course, never tried to be difficult. It just seemed like no one else knew how to get him to actually finish than, well, his own hand. And Percival was no virgin -- he had given chance to various people, some of them who were also rather experienced -- but it never quite seemed to happen.

Even with this relationship, Percival would get himself going by pleasuring Credence, and then typically finish himself off in his own bedroom.

But there was also another reason.

This reason was a pronounced discolored patch of skin that ran along his right inner thigh, healed but never gone. A grotesque scar, that he never did like discussing the source of.

When it was just himself, with his own hand, he never had to. He knew the spot where his own eyes would be advised against wandering.

But with any new bedfellow, it was never avoided. They _always_ asked.

How could they not? It was a glaring thing.

And an instant mood killer.

Even if Percival could detract the conversation away from the scar, even if he managed to convincingly lie -- that didn’t stop the flashbacks, the ugly truth rearing its ugly face in his own mind.

Flashbacks of a mission from his early Auror days, a mission of a which he never spoke.

The mission that convinced him with violent assurance:

There was no god.

Percival was suddenly aware that Credence had made a bid for his own satin pajama bottoms, in an aggressive move that was unlike Credence. This time, it was Percival who halted his hand. Credence raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why won’t you just give me a chance, Mr. Graves?” he asked, damn near pleading.

“Please don’t be upset darling.” Percival placed a kiss on his forehead, “It’s not you, its never you. Honestly, if it wasn’t for you I don’t know I could get hard at all.”

This is also true.

The fact of the matter was, Percival loved the arrangement they had already. He had damn near forgotten he had a sexual drive all together until Credence had come along. And, frankly, just watching how much Credence seemed to want him was satisfying to the point of being irresponsible. He loved how sensitive Credence was.

How hungry he was.

How he squirmed and fidgeted every touch, _at every word._

As an adult twice Credence’s age, it was rather worrying, yes.

But as Percival Graves --- it was also _hot as fuck._

And so, Percival could say with all honesty and no reservations --- yes, he felt he could live a very happy life spending the rest of his days making Credence come.

But Credence wouldn’t let up.

Softly, gently he asked Percival, “Is this about the scar?”

Percival could already feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

“Well, no, it’s not just that but --”

And he stopped mid sentence, his eyes suddenly the size of saucers.

Realization hit him like a punch to his gut.

“How… how do you know about that?”

Percival sat up, leaning back to look at Credence fully.

Credence suddenly looked abnormally pale, seeming to realize he had something wrong.

_But how?_

How were they talking about any of this?

Of course, Percival had already realized the answer to that question.

It actually made a lot of sense. It explained why Credence had the tolerance to sexual contact. It explained the sudden aggression Credence had shown so quickly after they initially became intimate.

Percival knew, now.

But he still wanted to hear it from Credence’s mouth.

“Credence.” Percival pressed, his tone reduced to a breathless whisper as he tried his damnedest not to absolutely lose his shit, “Credence… did you… you and Grindlewald…”

Suddenly, Credence couldn’t seem to look at him, eyes downcast and fixated on the luxurious bed sheets. The avoidance of eye contact did not help much of anything, and Percival was beginning feel an anger of which was increasingly worrying.

“I…I’m sorry,” Credence hiccuped, tears flowing once more. “I didn’t want to. I _never_ did.”

And the sobs broke out.

_Hard._

Percival cursed.

It just seemed to make Credence cry even harder.

But he wasn’t cursing at Credence.

Percival was honestly furious with himself for intially assuming it had been consensual. But now he was somehow even _angrier_ than he had been at first.

Because _of course_ Grindlewald would be the kind of sick fuck to force himself on a kid. _Of course_ Grindlewald would be exactly the kind of lowly bastard to take advantage of how starved Credence was for his affections.

But most of all, worst of all -- he did it with _his_ body.

_How far did they go?_

Grindlewald would have had to taken his pants off for Credence to have known about the scar.

What exactly did he make Credence _do?_

Percival swallowed hard.

The room was suddenly much darker, which didn’t make sense as the morning light had been shining hard through the room’s window just moment’s earlier. No, the air wasn’t just darker -- it was smoky.

And Credence was dissipating.

There was nothing more Percival could think to say. He could think of nothing to make this, _any of this_ , okay.

In desperation, for lack of anything else, Percival simply pounced onto what was left of Credence’s solid body, and he embraced him hard.

And like a vacuum, the black mist that was dancing around their heads seconds ago seemed to be sucked back into Credence, who was whole again. The boy sobbed into his shoulder, crying harder than Percival could say he had ever heard him cry.

For Credence Barebone, that was saying something.

Percival hushed him, still too dumbfounded by the cruelty of his revelation to think of something to say.

There was a thought that did go through his mind in the midst of woeful, sorrowful musings:

 _This_ \--- out of everything he had experienced, felt and witnessed in the past 20 years -- had to the second sign.

_There is no god._

No god could have made a boy this beautiful, this _pure_ , and subjected him to such an awful, horrible life.

It was just a pity, Percival seethed as he continued to cradle a sobbing Credence on his shoulder -- there would be no hell for Grindlewald to rot in after he killed him.

 


	5. V. The Practice of Maleficent Magic

 

It was a turning point in the relationship, and not for the better. 

It was not like their situation hadn’t already been messed up to begin with.

It was not like Percival wasn’t already in a _constant_ wrestling match with the crimes that Grindlewald had committed wearing his skin.

But this was an undiscovered, unexpected bit of news that was in no way negligible or small. Percival knew that from personal experience.

And now that the cat had been thrown out of the bag, neither Percival nor Credence could do anything to force it back in.

Things had changed.

Of course, Percival couldn’t speak for whatever was going on through Credence’s mind. He only knew his own troubled thoughts, and he knew them well. As they spent the remainder of what should have been an enjoyable, hard earned vacation in that hotel room, barely speaking, Percival had a lot of time to think over said thoughts.

Namely:

_What the fuck did Grindlewald do?_

Of course, a number of things -- some of them arguably much more urgent -- came to mind as well.

There were _so_ many questions.

_Could he ever, in good consciousness, touch the boy the same way again?_

_How many times did it happen?_

_Was this the reason Credence had clung onto his former religion so strongly? Part of it, perhaps?_

_His enthusiasm with Percival in bed – was it because he actually wanted him? Or was it some strange, unhealthy way of coping with his abuse?_

_Was it coping, even?_

It wasn’t like he could ask Credence himself. Any progress they had made in their relationship regressed backwards so quickly, it would have given anyone whiplash. Credence had already clammed back up, refusing eye contact and interacting with Percival like he was… well…. _him_.

And Percival wanted so badly to set this right. He wanted to assure Credence that everything was fine, that it wasn’t _him_ that Percival was so disgusted by. It was nothing _Credence_ did that made Percival look as shaken and as sullen as he suddenly did.

He wanted to quell whatever self-doubts or thoughts of self-hatred that the boy was very likely drowning in at the moment.

But then there was also the fact that Credence was not the only one who had been violated here.

Out of all the things Percival had imagined Grindlewald had done wearing his face, he had to admit that he had never imagined anything of a sexual nature. He had, up until now, been rather focused on the part where his impostor nearly brought down his entire home state and then some, all while none of his colleagues noticed something was off.

Now that it was on the table though, it opened a whole new pandoras box of questions.

_Was it possible Grindlewald may have forced himself on others?_

Unwelcome images of Grindlewald in his form came to mind, jerking off in front of the mirrors he had at home, a smirk on his lips, covered in sweat. -- glistening. 

_Did Grindlewald actually have some sick attraction to Percival?_

The thought made Percival nauseated, which was no welcome sensation on top of the many, _many_ other things Percival was feeling. And Credence, for all his silence, was an overwhelming presence that reminded him of it all with _scornful_ ferocity. He knew it was unintentional, he doubted the boy was actually upset with him or even held this against him at all. But that was the cruel thing:

He didn't have to. 

He did not have to whisper, he did not have to speak.

All Credence needed to do was so much as _glance_ at him, and it felt like a scream -- a blaring shriek through an invisible megaphone.

_You raped me._

* * *

 

“Could I see?”

Percival had asked it softly, as gently as he could.

They were back home.

Percival had done his best to seem semi normal, for the remainder of the time spent in Nevada. 

What else could really be done, or said?

He had only kissed Credence as reassuringly as possible, ran a hand through his hair, and whispered, “It’s not your fault. It’s not. None of it is. Please know that.” To which Credence had neither agreed nor disagreed.

But Credence himself seemed to have been trying to carry on like before.

It was forced, yes, but it was no great secret as to what was on Percival’s mind either.

Credence looked at him now, with apprehension.

Percival hadn’t really said much since they got back home, but neither of them had to specify what he meant by that question. Percival did not want to press Credence for the details of what happened -- neither of them was ready or equipped for such a conversation. However, Percival still couldn’t shake the subject, and he knew he wouldn’t for some time.

To Percival, the first step to closure is confrontation, as he had taught Credence in the remains of the old church.

But it was hard to confront something you couldn’t even remember.

Everything else Grindlewald had done was detailed in reports, in accounts and testimony from his Aurors. He had not been shy about collecting as much information as he could on what had happened in his absence.

Except _this_ – this not so small detail that was, to Percival’s knowledge, only locked away in the mind of Credence Barebone.

Credence looked down at his dinner plate guiltily. He poked his fork at cold, untouched mashed potatoes.

“Why?” he asked, still not meeting Percival’s eyes, “What would it matter?”

Percival’s smile was humorless, “It wouldn’t. I would just like to know what he did with _my_ body.”

Credence was silent.

A voice in the back of his mind was already urging him to stop talking, but Percival still persisted.

“Did he…” he paused before he could finish the question, his words getting caught in his throat like a gag before he could vomit out the rest, “…did he penetrate?”

A barely audible whisper, “ _Yes._ ”

In hindsight, he really should have listened to Credence from the beginning.

He shouldn’t have asked this.

He shouldn’t have pressed.

Because at this point, it really _didn’t_ matter.

Well okay, it _did_. But there was nothing to be gained from talking about it right this minute, when both of them were still freshly wounded from the newest blow to sordid affair.

And now, Credence was once again showing signs of melting into black mist and Percival was fuming over something he already should have guessed. His mind ran wild with unholy images of evil, awful things.

He heard the sound of a chair being dragged against the floor as Credence backed away from the supper table. He stood, looking uneasy.

“I’m going to bed.” He muttered, not bothering to clean up after himself as he typically did. Percival didn’t respond, but watched him walk towards the stairway.

 _To hell with questions_ , he decided. He was never going to get any answers this way.

Percival did not need to say the spell – he was skilled enough at legilimency to do it wandlessly _and_ wordlessly.

Credence spun around abruptly, perhaps sensing the intrusion into his mind. But there was not much else he could do – Percival had already dived in.

It was only a quick succession of scenes, none of them lasting more than a minute.

Percival saw himself and Credence in what looked to be an extremely cramped and dark booth, and his hands stripping Credence of his clothes.

Credence looked mortified.

The next minute, Percival saw himself in a different room, throwing Credence onto an unfamiliar bed as he kissed him with aggressive passion. His impostor removed his pants and boxers simultaneously, and Percival found himself recoiling at the sight of his own erection, and the blatant display of the exposed scar just behind it.

He saw Credence gape at it with no subtlety, but any questions he kept to himself.

His impostor followed Credence’s gaze, looking down at it before chuckling, “Oh don’t mind that ugly thing. Just a bad injury I got falling from a tree.”(The real Percival laughed a laugh that no one would hear)

“Now,” his impostor continued, and Percival hated how well Grindlewald seemed to be able his mannerisms, down to how he might sound when attempting to be seductive, “Where were we?”

He thrust the erection in Credence’s face, and cooed, “Just like I told you, boy.”

Credence hesitated, but moved towards the erection, his lips slowly enclosing around the hardness. It was obvious he didn’t know what he was doing, but he looked up at the impostor anyway, his expression seeking approval.

Percival saw himself run a hand through Credence’s hair, petting him lovingly.

“Good boy.” he smiled almost _kindly_ , before the scene changed again.

In the next, Percival seemed to be viewing the act midway through. He choked as he saw a completely naked Credence squirming below his own self in full nudity, pinning Credence down on the dirty floorboards of what looked to be some kind of attic. Credence was sobbing and screaming, and he himself thrusting with fervor.

In the next, Percival saw himself standing over Credence in the sofa of his own home, again without clothing.

He was burning the butt of a cigarette into Credence’s back, repeatedly as Credence moaned into the cushions.

Percival’s teeth grit together.

He had seen those scars.

Credence had said they were from his mother.

This one… _this_ one was too much.

Percival pulled out of Credence’s mind, filled to the brim with his own fury.

Credence was only staring at him from the same spot where he had turned -- but his eyes were cold.

“Satisfied?” was all he said before he suddenly burst forth into darkness, the obscurus blasting through the east most kitchen wall, leaving a gaping ruin where it once was. The obscurus shot off into the night, becoming invisible against the velvet sky.

Percival made no attempt to go after him, not even glancing at the direction to which it fled. He was still gripping the supper table, breathing hard -- his vision blurred. He fought the actual bile that was working his way up his throat. 

When he felt he had enough autonomy to move again, he apparated.

When he reappeared, Percival Graves was standing in Gellert Grindlewald’s cell, wand out and blood boiling.

“Percival.” Grindlewald smiled slyly.

The heathen stood up from where had been sitting on the floor, humming to himself merrily.

“I’ve been expecting you.”


	6. VI. The Slaughter of Babies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grindlewald knows how to push Percival's buttons.

 

“You sick _fuck_.” Percival hissed, the tip of his wand pressing hard into Grindlewald’s neck.

Grindlewald was still smiling, in that way he often did; giving off an eerie impression of the chesire cat. It only made Percival angrier, and if he had his wits about him, he would have immediately recognized that something was off. His Aurors’ intuition should have been ringing the alarm bells, screaming that Grindlewald looked _entirely_ too pleased with himself.

But he didn’t have his wits about him -- Percival was _livid_ , the images of Credence’s abuse burned into the retina of his minds eye. Of course, he only had himself to blame for that, but that probably wasn’t he was thinking of right now.

And then Grindlewald actually started to _coax_ him.

First, he let out a slow and mirthless laugh. It began as croaky, soft – the laugh of a voice neglected and fallen into disuse – and then it grew boisterous and hard by the end.

Percival growled.

Grindlewald tilted his head up, actually exposing more of his neck to Percival’s firing range. He licked his lips, now resembling a snake more than a cat.

“What’s wrong, Percy?” Grindlewald drawled, “Your boy missing the feel of my cock in his ass?”

Percival seethed. His wand forgotten, he decked Percival hard in the face. Grindlewald went down, bursting into yet another fit of laughter.

And Percival punched him again.

And again.

And again.

And the entire time, Grindlewald just continued to laugh.

It was as though each hit was a joke that just kept getting funnier and funnier, despite the fact that Percival was putting all his strength into it, and each punch was leaving noticeable injury.

Grindlewald’s face was suddenly drenched in the blood that flooded out from his now disfigured nose; a nose that was reduced into a gruesome mess in the middle of Grindlewald’s face. The crimson color of the blood only exacerbated the red Percival was already seeing in his desperate attempt at vengeance.

But Grindlewald did not so much as _flinch_.

He just kept laughing.

The blood that poured out from his nose dripped onto his crooked and yellowing teeth, settling between the cracks that made his grin look even more sinister than usual.

And then, after maybe the fifth or so punch, Grindlewald caught Percival by the wrist. Percival had been midway through another punch, and he noticed the sudden contact just a second too late.

They apparated.

 

 

* * *

 

When Percival woke, the first thing that occurred to him was that it was frighteningly cold.

He sat up rapidly, hissing at the pain in his left side. Placing a hand on his hip, he could feel that it was wet with blood. So he had managed to splinch himself, lovely.

He took in his surroundings.

He was in some kind of grassy meadow, with a bountiful amount of evergreen trees in every direction. It was still night, or at least _hopefully_ the same night. They must be somewhere far from the city, because the sky was empty of smog. The black backdrop of it was naked and speckled with stars and constellations. It was a sight that would humble any decent man in it’s beauty, but Percival had not forgotten the fact that just moments ago he was face to face with the most dangerous dark wizard of their time.

Where was…?

As though reading his mind, Percival heard a chuckle. He looked around frantically, trying to find his wand and stand at the same time. His left hip ached with pain, and he could not help but cry out as he stood only halfway.

“You are really too easy, you know that Percival?”

Finally, Percival was able to hone in on the English accent, mocking and loathsome in its familiarity. He looked up.

Grindlewald was sitting on a low, but sturdy looking tree branch on one of the trees off to his northwest side. His legs dangled and swayed childishly.

He was taking a hearty bite out of what looked to be a plump, bright red apple. His nose still looked broken -- the blood from it still flowing down to the apple, mingling with the fruits juices.

“I knew you’d come to me _eventually_.” Grindlewald boasted, looking indeed extremely proud of himself. “I _knew_ you wouldn’t be able to control that temper of yours when you found out how good I _fucked_ him.”

“You asshole...” Percival said through gritted teeth, still trying to find his wand. Even if he did though, he knew he was at a disadvantage -- Grindlewald had the high ground, and Percival was painfully injured.

“...And of course, _who_ was my one ticket out of there?”

Grindlewald asked a rhetorical question. Percival didn’t need anyone to point out the fact that he had been tricked. Certain cells at MACUSA were enchanted so that only very select employees could apparate in and out of them -- Percival being one of those lucky few.

Unfortunately, that also included side along apparition.

A few feet away, Percival saw a dark spot in the grass. He made for it, hopeful that it might be his wand. It was just so hard to see in the tall grass and the dark night, even with the plentiful starlight. It also didn’t help that Percival was experiencing crippling nausea and pain.

“Where is he now Percy, hmm?” Grindlewald mused, continuing to chomp on his apple, “Did you two have a fight? You seem _awfully_ angry.”

Percival’s hand enclosed on the mystery object, which he was thrilled to find was his wand after all. He spun to face Grindlewald, ignoring the burning at his side as he screamed out, “Crucio!”

Of course, Grindlewald apparated away before the spell could hit. He should have expected that.

He was free to do so, after all -- he was a free man now, and it was all Percival’s fault. Another thing Percival could add to the growing list of things to blame himself for.

But Percival what _didn’t_ expect him to do was to apparate again, right back behind him. He did not hear the usual crack that came with apparition, and he jumped when he felt Grindlewald’s voice, _that pretentious fucking accent_ , suddenly _right_ next to his right ear.

“Did you cut him loose after you found out what a little _slut_ he was?” Grindlewald hissed as he gripped Percival’s leg -- the leg that he was scarred on -- and ran a hand up it roughly. Percival tried to turn, fury once again starting to blur his vision -- but Grindlewald’s hold on him was tighter than he had first perceived.

Maybe that was in a metaphorical sense, too.

“I wouldn’t blame you, of course.” Grindlewald purred into his ear as he tossed the bloody, half eaten apple on the grass below them. “He didn’t suck off very well. Too much teeth. I actually had to punish him by taking him completely dry, once.”

Percival screamed out a completely incoherent scream; helpless but unable to contain himself. It was the scream of a wounded animal, howling for the pain to stop. Around them, large tree branches broke off from the evergreens, the sound of wood crackling open loudly -- like popcorn over an open fire.

 _Once again_ , Gellert Grindlewald knew _exactly_ how to get under his skin.

Grindlewald was suddenly laughing again.

“You know Percy, I really have to thank Credence. Without him…I just don’t _know_ if I could’ve found a way to break you. You’re a man with very little weaknesses, Percival Graves -- very little weaknesses, and one _big_ one. That boy will be your downfall. You will thank me when I get rid of him for you, _once and for all_.”

Percival used all the mantra he had to try and turn around this time, and suddenly, he found himself collapsing onto nothing but the damp grass.

He looked around, but he was alone.

Grindlewald had vanished.

 

* * *

 

Credence.

He _had_ to find Credence.

Percival had to rest a moment before apparating back, but he knew he was pressed for time. Grindlewald’s last statement worried him, and Percival still had no idea where Credence had gone after their little fight. Credence had left angry with him, not wrongfully so -- but it likely wasn’t going to help the situation.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply, doing his best to regain focus.

When Percival felt like he could at least see straight again, he swallowed hard, gripped his wand tightly, and apparated back to his – _their_ home.

But when he reappeared, he was not standing in the modest kitchen he typically found himself in; the kitchen that was usually his landing spot for apparition. In fact, he was having a hard time disconcerting _where_ he ended up, because all he could see around him were bright flashes of orange and red.

All he could see around him was fire – fire, and a storm of black clouds high above the flames. The heat that surrounded him was _overwhelming_ , in comparison to the bitter cold he felt just seconds ago. His knees nearly buckled from the temperature and the smell, but he put an arm to his nose, covering it, and attempted to drag his feet to anywhere that was not engulfed in the blaze, with one thing still on his mind now more than ever:

Credence.

 _Jesus_ , maybe Grindlewald was right about him.

But that still didn’t make him any less worried.

He managed to walk out to what he thought might be the street, conjuring a shield charm to help fend off some of the smoke. Still, everything else seemed to be ablaze too – orange and red as far as the naked eye could see; an endless inferno.

It was like walking into a lake of fire.

And then he heard it – a wail that had become all too familiar, like a parent knew the wail of their child.

Credence was miraculously not far off, maybe only a dozen feet away. He was crouching on the ground, curled into himself – knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. His clothes were torn and ragged, body coved in deep, bleeding gashes. His long hair looked matted with blood. Percival sprinted to him.

“Credence!” he screamed as he kneeled down and nearly yanked the boy’s head upward by his locks, frantic with concern.

His eyes were a very odd color -- a milky off-white that looked unnatural against the whites of his eyes.

“Credence, what…what happened?” Percival panted as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’m so sorry…” Credence continued to cry in the same way that he did on that first morning in Nevada, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to….”

Percival looked around him again.

It hadn’t occurred to him that the fact that everything was on fire could be Credence’s doing, but now things were making a little more sense.

Had he been _that_ upset by Percival breaking into his thoughts? Percival recalled the hardened look in his eyes before he had flown off, and he the horror of it all made him shiver despite the engulfing heat around them.

“ _Oh Credence_ , what have you done?”

But Credence was shaking his head violently. “No… I didn’t…” he sobbed, and he muttered to himself incoherently -- it seemed he was unable to form a coherent sentence.

Credence seemed just as shaken as Percival did, and Percival had to wonder if the white in his eyes were from the obscurus – or perhaps the hold of an imperius curse.

‘ _That boy will be your downfall…_ ’ the echo of Grindlewlad’s voice slithered into his thoughts.

He was never going to figure this out until he could get Credence to talk and tell him what happened.

Percival grabbed him firmly by both his shoulders and tried shaking him in a weak attempt to snap him out of it, but the moment was broken anyway by a stern voice behind them.

“Mr. Graves.”

Percival spun around and suddenly faced a horde of aurors gathered before him, their wands all extended out – pointing straight at them.

In front of them, Seraphina stood tall, somehow still managing to appear majestic amidst the chaos and destruction.

Her expression was highly unamused.

“Step aside.” She instructed Percival, her tone simultaneously calm and deadly.

Percival stood, but he only stepped back to shield Credence more properly, as the boy remained huddled on the scorching hot sidewalk.

“Madam President, I can…”

He can what?

_Explain?_

How on earth could he explain _this_?

“Step aside.” Seraphina repeated more firmly. “…Unless you confess to being an impostor once more.”

“No!” Percival shouted at that, “I’m _not_ him! He might be loose, and I think Grindlewald could be the one responsible for this, but _I am not him_ , Madam President –please, you _must_ believe me.”

“Do _not_ tell me what I must and must not do, Mister Graves!” she snapped at him, and a few aurors behind her flinched.

No one in MACUSA had ever heard the president so angry, none the less with one of her most prized employees.

Percival shook his head, fully realizing there was likely no convincing her.

“Credence is innocent.”, was all he could think to say. It was all he had left to say -- whether he was sure if the truth of that statement or not.

He wasn’t sure if there was anything that could be done to save their skins now -- but it was a final, desperate plea for Credence’s life that he knew also likely convinced no one.

Seraphina glared at him with heavy suspicion, “That is _twice_ that this _monster_ has wreaked havoc on this city. If you _are_ Grindlewald or one of his pawns in disguise, then I should have no reason not to kill you both anyway. If you are the true Percival Graves…”

She raised her own wand, her expression falling back into a poker face; the face she had on when she had reached a resolution she was not fond of, but knew she had to do.

“…then I am truly sorry. But I _cannot_ let this boy continue to live. Far too many people are dead, both no maj and wizards. And if you refuse to step aside, then it seems we have no choice – and I thank you for your many years of service.”

Percival knew he only had a few seconds before they started firing.

They appeared to be hesitating, perhaps giving him a last chance to save his own life. He looked into the faces of his own employees and colleagues, some of whom he had grown fond of. Many of them looked back at him with pleading eyes, _begging him_ to make the right choice here.

But of course, they dare not speak in his defense – none of them were dumb enough to undermine the president’s orders.

Percival knew all of them would fire once she beckoned, no questions asked.

He was at a crossroads.

If he stepped aside now, he could well – continue to live. That had to be worth something, right? Maybe it would help his case in proving that he was, in fact, the real Percival Graves. Maybe they could view his memories through a pensive and they would see…

… _what would they see, exactly_?

Should Percival look forward to the fact that they would discover that this probably all happened because Percival lost his cool, broke into both Credence’s mind and Grindlewald’s cell, only to inadvertently help Grindlewald break out -- all because Grindlewald knew how to play him like a _fucking_ fiddle?

They would probably have him executed anyway -- if he was being honest with himself.

On the other hand, if he stepped aside now – he would _still_ have a better chance of surviving for at least a little longer than if he stood his ground now or tried to resist further.

Even if he ran and they both lived – he would undoubtedly lose everything.

But what _was_ everything?

Credence – the boy who he had been treating more as his own personal concubine not too long ago – hadn’t _he_ become Percival’s everything?

_When did he get so soft?_

Percival raised his wand and pointed it back at Seraphina and the aurors, making his decision clear without saying a single word.

“Very well.” Seraphina nodded curtly.

But before anyone got the chance to cast their spell, a domino procession of screams and yelps came barreling through the auror crowd.

 _Of all things_ , a gigantic silver colored thunderbird came soaring in from behind, flying close to the ground so that its claws tore through the mass, dividing it and forcing people to duck and stumble away.

The bird seemed unafraid of the flames, flapping its grandiose wings violently, breaking apart the huddle as much as it possibly could. It cawed down loudly and fiercely at Seraphina, who had turned around and directed her wand at its face -- but seemed hesitant.

Percival wasn’t sure if she had ever seen a thunderbird herself, and realized she must be finally caught off guard, if not _extremely_ confused.

Out of the corner of his eye, Percival thought he could see the tail of a bright blue trenchcoat turning a corner, but had not that much time to think about it. He could recognize a staged distraction when he saw one.

He mentally thanked his guardian angel, grabbed Credence’s arm from behind him, and they vanished.

 

* * *

 

Percival brought them to a hillside not that far from the city, but one he knew was deserted.

He crouched over Credence, who lay on the grass unconscious. Percival made sure to check his vitals to be sure but it did seem that the boy had merely fainted.

He stood, his side still aching hard, and looked north -- from there, you could still see the red light of New York City ablaze.

His lips pursed as he thought, bitterly, that it looked almost just like a regular sunrise.

In a twisted sense, he supposed it _was_ something like a sunrise – the breaking of a new dawn, a new era in their lives.

Of course, it was likely to be an awful one.

_What the hell were they going to do now?_

With Grindlewald on the loose, Percival knew he couldn’t bring himself to leave Credence anywhere, even places he considered safe. He already sacrificed everything he knew to let this boy live, he’d be damned if the kid was just going to end up dead anyway.

But at the same time, they had nowhere to really go.

His home, his _entire home city_ had been literally burned to the ground; consumed in a lake of fire and brimstone.

All his bank accounts would likely be seized, with no safe way of getting more money.

And unless he could find _some way_ to prove _both_ their innocence, they would be on the run – likely for the rest of their days.

By his feet, Credence was stirring awake.

Percival knelt below him.

“Are you alright, Credence?”

“What? Yes…what… _what happened_?”

The boy sounded groggy, as though he was simply waking up from a fitful sleep that had been riddled with mere nightmares.

And oh, how Percival wished this was one of those times.

How he wished this was all just a bad dream.

“Did you see Grindlewald, boy?” Percival asked, unable to keep the tense edge from his tone.

Credence looked confused.

“No? I don’t think so. Why?”

“Tell me what happened. What is the last thing you remember?” Percival pressed him, trying to keep his voice gentle so as to not set Credence off again.

“I don’t know…” Credence squinted as he tried to recall, “I was… I was at the ruins of the old church… praying… and… everything went blank.”

So, imperius curse it was.

Or at least, that was what Percival _wanted_ to believe.

He didn’t even think to ask why Credence would have been praying in ruins that already had been burned to ashes.

It made sense that Grindlewald would have known to find him there. It was not like Credence frequented many places.

“What happened?” Credence asked a second time, looking gradually more fearful. “Did I do something?”

Percival almost laughed at the naiveté, the innocence in his voice. Instead, he sighed and kissed him on the lips.

For the second time in some short amount of months, they smooched to the backdrop of glowing flames – but this time to a much grander scale. That first time, it had been Credence’s meager excuse of a home -- and this time it was everything they had come to know and love.

This time, they were both lost.

Percival was still an atheist, to that he would _always_ insist.

But rather than making any blasphemous statements after their lips separated, he instead caressed Credence’s face; the face of his own fallen angel.

Fighting back his own tears, Percival tried to smile.

He did promise he would always protect him, and he would – _God willing_.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered.

And Credence nodded.

_God help them both._

* * *

_Romans 21:8_

_“But for the fearful, and unbelieving, and abominable, and murderers, and fornicators, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, their part shall be in the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone; which is the second death.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it count as killing babies if he kills everyone?
> 
> So, as you may have noticed, this is a series. So while this story ends here, there will be a sequel continuing this at some point. But that's later.
> 
> For now, thanks for all who read and reviewed and subscribed and kudosed and what have you.  
> I appreciate all your feedback and see you soon! :D

**Author's Note:**

> come chat http://phantasmiicparade.tumblr.com/


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